


Scandalous

by DMichelleWrites



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Married Life, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DMichelleWrites/pseuds/DMichelleWrites
Summary: Oliver and Felicity's first Valentine's Day date night as a married couple is filled with everything they could possibly want- laughter, love, romance, and all their favorite things. They also make damn sure the hotel room they reserved is put to good use. After all, it is the perfect way to mark the holiday. Their night goes beautifully. That is until paparazzi show up the next morning. Will Oliver revert back to his old ways when he used to punch them out? What does Felicity do in response? How do they combat enemies, who want to tarnish their names in the public eye?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I usually have one single image to go along with my fics, but this one in particular got me really excited and inspired. So [here](http://dmichellewrites.tumblr.com/post/155812090471/dmichellewrites-heres-my-fic-visual-inspo) is my story visual masterpost, if you're curious. Also, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_7EKr5a82k) "Trading Places" by Usher - the song featured in the story. Please note the song and video are NSFW, and you don't have to look at my post or listen to the song to enjoy this story. This story is my longest single-chapter fic to date, so for those you who like long reads, I do hope you enjoy this. For those of you don't, I'm sorry this one got away from me. Happy early Valentine's Day, lovebirds and single Pringles. Enjoy!

Knobs squeak loudly, and steam fogs up the mirror of the Queens’ medicine cabinet. Felicity hums “So This is Love” from _Cinderella_ as she wraps herself in a large fluffy green towel. Oliver’s reflection is smeary, yet she’s aware of his piercing gaze lingering on her. Felicity’s lips curl into a smirk  
  
“Is that my towel?” Her husband accuses playfully, knowing the answer full well. “Overwatch strikes again.”  
  
Pulling her natural brown locks into a bun, Felicity feigns a gasp, “Drat! You’ve discovered my evil plan to leave the big, bad Green Arrow toweless. Go get another one instead. We have eight of ‘em.”  
  
Oliver argues adamantly, “But it’s _my_ towel. I know we have eight of them. I just don’t see why you have to usemy towel all the time.”  
  
“Here.” She relents, throwing his beloved towel off her body. His wife saunters to their adjacent bedroom so unabashed in her nudity. Felicity lowers her voice, teasing, “Big Baby. Mine. Mine. Mine. What happened to ‘what’s yours is mine, Felicity?’”  
  
“Oh, is that supposed to be me?” He guesses, an eyebrow arching while a mischievous glint sparks in his azure eyes.  
  
“Uh-huh.” His wife confirms, warning with a cross of her arms, “Don’t you even think about it, Queen.”  
  
“What exactly was I thinking about, Felicity?”  
  
Felicity mimics again in a deep voice, “‘Hey, Honey, you sure you don’t wanna join me in the shower?”  
  
Oliver’s pursed lips are every indication that she's right per usual.  
  
“Oliver, shower. We still need to get ready for dinner, and I don’t intend to spend our first Valentine’s Day as a married couple on an empty stomach. Now, go.”  
  
A shit-eating grin makes those adorable dimples pool in his cheeks when he walks away for his turn in the shower.  
  
“Anything you say, my love.”  
  
Shaking her head in amusement, Felicity finds a bottle of her favorite Aveeno lotion, slathering it on her legs and other dry areas. With one clamp, the removal of her pink and white clip sends her hair messily falling to her shoulders with a wet smack. She’s all finished blow-drying her hair by the time Oliver is done with his own shower. Normally, she would be fine with a little fun in the bathroom, but Felicity wants to save that for later. Plus, Oliver was just working on his Ducati. His nail beds were caked with engine oil, and he smelled a bit like a walking ad for motorcycle grease, After putting on her bra and panties, Felicity combs through her side of their walk-in closet. She pauses at her infamous little black dress with tasteful cutouts. No, that frock wouldn’t feel right because if Oliver has his way they’d never leave the house. Blue is more appropriate for the office. A full-on red or pink dress seems too cheesy, considering the holiday. Finally, her eyes stop scouring through the rack at the sight of the perfect dress.  
  
“You’re just right, my pretty.” Felicity speaks to her dress, huffing out a small laugh at her own joke.  
  
Her dress is an Alice  & Olivia design. It’s pure white, which is definitely appropriate for a romantic night out in Star City. The frock is a soft cotton with a demure, but subtle lace overlay that screams 1960’s Hollywood Romance. The a-line skirt is flowy and fun. It truly is perfect in her eyes, and that’s all that matters. Pink suede pumps nearly complete her ensemble.  
  
 Felicity tucks stray strands of her naturally brunette locks behind her ear, the gems from her rings gleaming in the buttery yellow light. She’s getting used to the idea of her actual hair color- a chocolatey shade with subtle chestnut brown highlights. Thea and Samantha had finally convinced her to ditch the blonde hair dye during a girls’ spa weekend in Utah for a trial run. While the blonde represented Felicity in her post-goth phase, but all the bleach and chemicals were slowly murdering her healthy hair. When she came home that Sunday, Oliver was quite surprised. It wasn’t that she needed the approval of any man, even if he is her husband. However, compliments were always appreciated. The first time Oliver laid eyes on her wife’s new do, he whispered in Felicity’s ear, noting how beautiful she looked and how it brought out those gorgeous blue eyes of hers. With this natural look, Felicity no longer feels as if she’s trapped in a metaphorical mask. Again, she brushes a strand back that’s already behind her ear. Suddenly, she feels this wall of muscle against her back. If Felicity hadn’t known who it was, she would’ve yelped in surprise.  
  
“You look beautiful, Felicity.” Oliver whispers huskily, planting a slow smooth kiss by her earlobe that reads anything but platonic before he figures, “Need some help with that zipper?”  
  
Felicity nods silently, her teeth starkly contrasting her creamy magenta lip. It isn’t that she feels doubtful in her date night look, she just feels as if something’s missing. She feels a bit bare.  
  
With a palm resting on her decolletage, she digs through her jewelry drawer, “Hm… I need an accessory... Why aren’t you dressed yet?”  
  
“I’m getting there.” He promises, pulling a maroon velvet box from a deep pocket in his black suede jacket, “Will this do?”  
  
The hinges on the velvet box creak open to reveal a delicate yellow gold necklace with a Star of David hanging from the center of it.  
  
“Oh my gosh! It’s stunning.” His wife compliments, cheekily swatting Oliver’s behind.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
“Oliver, Honey, we were supposed to make our gifts this year.”  
  
Looking down bashfully at his toes, he tells her, “I did make it. Arrowheads are one of the few things I know how to work with.”  
  
Thinking her present now pales in comparison, Felicity says glumly, “And I only made you a personal coupon book.”  
  
“Hey, that was the best coupon book I’ve ever gotten. Way better than the one Thea gave me when she ten. She didn’t even bother following through on any of her promises.” Oliver states tenderly, his calloused hands caressing her bare arms  “Though, I was flipping through it, don’t you think we’re a little too old for Leapfrog? Plus it’s usually dangerous to do that in a pool.”  
  
Felicity giggles at that sentiment. To think, this guy was a former playboy.  
  
“Um... Hon. That was definitely not Leapfrog.” His wife giggles, her voice dropping to a whisper, “I might show you what I really meant later tonight.”  
  
“Wait? What did you…?” His face crumples in confusion, yet realization swiftly dawns upon him. “Oh... _oh_! Are you we can’t sneak in some quick alone time before dinner?”  
  
“Not a chance in Hell, Queen.” Felicity denies, leaving him an excellent view of her ass as she heads downstairs, “Get dressed. C’mon, let’s go. Chop chop!”  
  
Much to his chagrin, he sighs heavily, “Will I ever see you naked again tonight?”  
  
“Maybe. Like you’re so deprived though, poor baby,” She chimes. He can almost see her winking at him right now, despite not being in front of each other. “But you better play your cards right.”  
  
On that note, Oliver rushes to his side of their walk-in closet. He throws on some charcoal black dress pants, matching shoes, a nice crisp white button up shirt, and a crimson tie. The clack of Felicity’s heels are muffled by the white carpet. She returns to check on her husband’s progress.  
  
“I swear to God, Oliver, if you wear that ancient pea coat one more time, I will…”  
  
The man has three of everything: three suits, tuxes, leather jackets, shoes, but only one pea coat he wears constantly so much so it’s becoming a tattered mess with a button attempting to make its escape. Much to Felicity’s surprise, Oliver opts for the same black suede jacket, where he hid her new necklace. He closes the two buttons. With his look finished, Felicity gazes at him like he just stepped out of _GQ_ magazine, and if he’s just walked out _GQ_ , Oliver thinks she just came home from a _Vogue_ cover shoot. Or better yet from her husband’s perspective, _Maxim_. She emits a languid whistle, mocking a catcall.  
  
Oliver jokes, grinning from ear to ear. “Huh? I knew you only liked me for my body.”  
  
“Mmm…” Felicity swears, licking her lips. “Yeah, but I sure as Hell love you for a lot more than that.”  
  
“Good. I was kind of hoping so.”  
  
“And?” She prompts expectantly.  
  
With a head shake and hushed tone, he utters, “I love you too.”  
  
Oliver escorts his wife to their black Range Rover. The moon hangs beautifully in the night sky, shining with a serene glow. Their car alarm chirps, and like the gentleman that he is, Oliver opens the door for Felicity.  
  
Just as she climbs into the passenger’s side, his wife reminds, “Don’t forget your glasses.”  
  
“I don’t need them, Felicity.”  
  
“Oh, really?” She suspects, buckling her seatbelt. “Dr. O’Neil would beg differ as do I. Oliver, you know you’re nearsighted.”  
  
“Fine.” He grumbles, reassuring, “I have an extra pair in the center console.”  
  
A victorious grin curls on her lips when Felicity replies, “Thank you.”  
  
With a click of an overhead switch, Oliver dutifully adjusts his glasses.  
  
“Wow!” Felicity quips lovingly, “You are getting on in years, ol’ man.”  
  
He simply huffs out a breath. Oliver has at least four grays in his goatee and a couple more atop his head. However, he certainly isn’t slowing down, and it’s not as if becoming almost thirty-three is elderly. It’s not even mid-thirties. Her fingers burrow into his until they find the perfect fit.  
  
Squeezing his hand in consolation, she explains, “I was just teasing.”  
  
Wordlessly, he starts the truck.  
  
“Oliver…”  
   
Trying a different approach, Felicity questions, “Why do you hate wearing glasses so much when you think they’re ‘really hot’ on me?”  
  
Eyes clenching shut, Oliver worries, “Do you really think I’m getting old?”  
  
“No, of course not.” Felicity answers honestly, “Like I said I was only teasing. Besides I find the glasses and gray distinguishing.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
She confirms, pressing an ardent, passionate kiss against his lips, “Yes. Now can we please go to Big Belly Burger? I’m starving.”

* * *

Oliver and Felicity venture merely a few blocks away. A fast food joint isn’t a typical place for Valentine’s Day, but considering the couple has previously reserved the honeymoon suite at the Starling Fairmont Hotel with extra amenities, it would have to do. At the very least, the Queens know that this Big Belly Burger is much nicer than the one in Central City, according to Samantha, William, and Barry. They pull up to the eatery, which isn't difficult to miss. There’s a huge brilliantly lit sign in classic red and yellow colors, directing customers to the joint.  
  
A front doorbell dings, signaling they’ve made their way inside, and as soon as they do, they spot a familiar face.  
  
“Well, well, well.” Carly laughs, “Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes?”  
  
Oliver greets kindly, “Hi, Carly.”  
  
“How’s A.J.?” Felicity continues.  
  
“He’s doing great. All excited to be in fifth grade now.” Carly replies, “To be honest, I didn’t expect the mayor and first lady of Star City to visit my neck of the woods on Valentine’s Day.”  
  
“You know I love the fries here better than anywhere else.”  
  
“Okay,” the waitress shrugs, addressing them deferentially, “Mr. Mayor, Mrs. C.E.O., what’ll you have?”  
  
Pressing a finger to her chin, Felicity orders their usual, “One side of fries, a Big Belly Buster and strawberry shake for me and a Sriracha Chicken Burger with a vanilla shake for this one.”  
  
“For here or to go?”  
  
Oliver and Felicity decide simultaneously, “To go.”  
  
Luckily, the wait is about twenty minutes or so. The only people out to the triple B as Felicity’s dubbed it on occasion at during a holiday for lovers are usually single people, so the Queens garner a slew of odd looks, especially considering the fact that they’re dressed semi-casually. But date night is date night nonetheless. Besides who wants to sit in some fancy restaurant, where the portions are so atomic that you have to look at them through a microscope. Also, the hotel suite, wine, brownie bites, and red roses alone put the Queens’ night of romance in the quadruple digits. Even when a couple is a mayor of the city and respectively a founder/C.E.O. of a Fortune 500 tech conglomerate, they can afford that (and not out of taxpayers’ money), but it isn’t exactly chump change either. Thankfully, Oliver and Felicity split the bills as a joint present to one another.  
  
Not letting their fancy outfits go to waste, the Queens stroll right next door to Starling National Park.  
  
“Milady.” Oliver offers her a spot on an empty park bench built for two.  
  
Felicity believes, sitting on her haunches, “Best seat in the house.”  
  
The couple’s taste buds are delighted by a mountain of shoestring cut fries, a juicy Angus beef burger, and a spicy chicken burger that really hits the spot. They share laughter over notoriously bad gifts. Oliver and Felicity also reminisce over their first few months of marriage together. Oliver drapes his suede jacket over Felicity’s arms when a cool breeze passes by. They feed each other fries, causing an avalanche on spud mountain. Miraculously, thanks to a countless amount of napkins and butcher paper wrapped around their food, there’s nary a ketchup or mustard stain to be found. A large belch billows out of Felicity’s mouth after she’s finished sucking down the remnants of her frothy, fruity, and umptious strawberry shake.  
  
“I love you so damn much.” Her husband whispers, subsequently following an eruption of laughter.  
  
“Excuse me.” She pardons, blotting her lips with a napkin. “Though as Shrek would say ‘Better out than in.’”  
  
“Mmhm,” He hums, ensconcing her in his arms when another chill cuts through the spring night air. “It’s a beautiful night.”  
   
His wife agrees, “Yeah, no work, no interruptions, and no annoying paparazzi.”  
  
Or so they think, miles down on the other side of the road in a beat up powder blue Dodge Charger that looks like it was straight out of the 1970’s, two men are lurking in wait with a long range camera lens in hopes of snap some photos of the mayor out with his new lady friend, who doesn’t appear to be his wife from their perspectives.  
  
Amidst multiple camera shutters, a stodgy redheaded man wonders, “Dude, did you get it?”  
  
“Of course, I did.” The photographer confirms, berating, “You dumbass!”  
  
“Aw, man, Miles. What a score.” the other man notes, “This is gonna be one sweet payday.”  
  
“Are we sure that isn’t his wife though, Timmy?”  
  
“His wife is that really hot blonde, dude. The chick who looks like a sexy librarian.” He reminds, scribbling down some notes, “I always knew Star City was bound to have a cheating scandal. I mean he may be some rich ass mayor, but he’s still the same old Ollie Queen.”  
  
Unbeknownst to them, the Queens are blissfully unaware of supposed incriminating photos and they are raring to resume their night of romance.  
  
“Mmm... You know.” Felicity starts, using her most seductive voice possible, “I think I might just be ready for bed.”  
  
Oliver hopes, lifting one eyebrow, “Now?”

“What do you think?” Felicity retorts playfully, their lips colliding against each other for a bruising kiss, which transforms into an even greater display of passion when she snakes her tongue in his mouth.  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes.”

* * *

They couldn’t get back to their car fast enough. It resembles a goddamned stampede of clacking heels and slightly squeaking dress shoes. They return to Big Belly Burger only to race down just a ways away to Starling Fairmont Hotel. Despite every fiber in his being begging for sweet relief, Oliver calmly places cash in a valet’s hand right before fetching their overnight bags. One was his black duffel bag, where he usually tucks away his Kevlar green super suit. The other is a Louis Vuitton carry-on, where Felicity mentioned she had some fun surprises in store. They might be staying here for merely one night. However, it certainly couldn’t look as if they were simply there to have sex. (Though, they are, and a lot of it) Hence, the bags. The couple links arms, heading towards the front desk.  
  
“Hello.”  
  
Oliver informs, “Hi, we have a reservation for the honeymoon suite under Mr. Jonas Pennman and Mrs. Megan Kuttler.”  
  
The concierge’s fingertips scurry briefly across the keyboard.  
  
“Ah, Mr. Pennman, Mrs. Kuttler, we’ve been expecting you both,” the elderly lady greets, fetching their keycard, “Our honeymoon suite is on our twenty-fourth floor. May I say congratulations, it’s a pleasure to have you both with us at the Starling Fairmont Hotel. Here you go, and please don’t hesitate to call down to the lobby if you two need anything at all.”  
  
With their keycard in her possession, Felicity obliges, “Will do. Thank you.”  
  
Oliver’s left holding all the bags while Felicity makes a beeline straight towards the elevators.  
  
“Hey, hey. Wait for me.” Oliver chases after his wife, panting as he shoves the bags under his arms.  
  
Thankfully, since the Starling Fairmont Hotel boasts about their luxurious rooms spanning twenty-six floors, the elevators are a tad slow. The elevator dings, and the gold painted doors slide open by the time Oliver catches up to Felicity.  
  
As Oliver heaves the bags on the floor, his wife smirks, “I almost had you back there, Mr. Pennman.”  
  
“Too bad.” He murmurs in her ear, “Gotta be quicker than that, Mrs. Kuttler.”  
  
Why, the fake names? Truthfully, it’s an old trick from Tommy’s one-night stand handbook. A fake name was a necessity during a night cap with any girl. His preference of choice was Connor Rhodes- an E.R. doctor who hailed from the windy city of Chicago. Now, Oliver and Felicity use pseudonyms to avoid possible leaks. If information would be given out to some tabloids rats, there’s no way they’d be interested in mild-mannered Jonas Pennman and Megan Kuttler. Granted, Oliver and Felicity don’t quite understand why the press is so intrigued by fodder in their lives.  
  
Their night jobs as Green Arrow and Overwatch are entirely different story, but Oliver and Felicity Queen usually pretty boring. Sure, Oliver comes from a formerly wealthy family seething with scandal. And yes, they are the first couple of Star City. On a rare occasion, they have been known to hobnob with the likes of Blake Lively, Ryan Reynolds, Justin Timberlake, and Jessica Biel. However, Samantha, Kara, and Iris were a part of the press for that movie premiere in New York, and invited them to tag along during Fashion Week in Gotham. The other event was to celebrate President Susan Brayden’s Alien Amnesty act, and those couples merely happened to be there. They could care less about the Hollywood lifestyle. They are more concerned with helping people in both their day and night jobs    
  
Despite a few public appearances, the Queens are quite mundane. Oliver likes to go to the Farmers Market on weekends to pick up fresh, organic fruits and vegetables. Felicity enjoys stopping at the local bookstore, reading the latest sci-fi novels in stock. Other than that, they sometimes go out to eat at Corrado’s, McGuire’s Bar, JItters, Big Belly Burger, and Kayanan cafe. Those errands aren’t fascinating at all.  
  
It takes everything in Oliver and Felicity to be mindful of not jumping each others’ bones while in the elevator. Admittedly, they have shared the same fantasy about doing just that once or twice. Perhaps, the Arrow Cave elevator would be best to fulfill that naughty desire. However, they’ve come pretty damn close as they’re nearing the twenty-fourth floor. Felicity shoves Oliver against that gold painted wall, allowing him a sneak preview. Her hips are pinned to his as their mouths reconnect for a series of sloppy kisses all tongues and teeth until the need for oxygen is hearkening them. The tables are turned when Oliver pushes Felicity up against a wall, much gentler than she she did to him. His large hand nails both of her wrists above her head. His stubble rasps along the column of her neck, his teeth nipping at her pulse point.  
  
“Ol-Oliver,” She whimpers at his ministrations, biting back a moan when they finally reach their floor, “Oliver, Wait, hold on. We’re right here.”  
  
His breath tickles her neck, not ceasing in practically devouring her neck, “Thank God.”  
  
“Oliver, wait…”  
  
Felicity’s this short of smacking her husband right upside the head if he doesn’t stop. He considers taking a break. She hastily finds the double doors to the honeymoon suite Room 2420, slipping the keycard in the left-hand side. With a resounding beep and three green lights at the knob, they’re finally granted entrance. Oliver throws the bags inside, effectively knocking over a wooden chair by a small coffee table. He also throws Felicity over his shoulder, playfully patting her on the butt before they reach a huge King size bed, waiting to be loved in. Oliver lays Felicity atop the cream colored covers. His body blankets hers, and his hands are positively itching to find that zipper.  She pushes at his shoulders, shooting him a patent deadly glare.  
  
“What? What is it? What’s wrong?”  
  
“We have all night, and I want us to take our time. Drink a little wine, and c’mon, those brownie bites look so damn good. They’re calling my name, and saying, ‘Eat me, Felicity’”  
  
“But,” He protests, the expression falling on what Felicity would like to call his pouty face.  
  
Felicity requests, nibbling on his earlobe, a generally agreeable spot that usually makes him puddy in her hands, “For me.”  
  
Still, Oliver doesn’t give in right away, objecting like a petulant child, “But Felicity…”  
  
“Please,” She coaxes, brushing her nose against his in an Eskimo kiss before she tenderly smooches his the area above his upper lip and below his nose.  
  
“Anything you say, my love.” He repeats from earlier in the evening.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You never, ever have to thank me, Felicity. I’ll always wait for you.”  
  
Her smeary magenta lips tilt into a gentle smile. On that note, Felicity pulls away, much to Oliver’s displeasure. But only to flick on the lights, which have a dimmer switch. The room is bathed in an environmentally friendly, yet unflattering fluorescent glow. Granted, this hotel is energy efficient, following in accordance with Oliver’s green mandate to be energy friendly and more helpful to disabled patrons. Looking around the room, they feel as if it reminds them of a cheesy Valentine’s Day ad in _Redbook_. At the very least, it doesn’t entertain the over-the-top cliche idea of a heart-shaped mattress with a mixture of red silk and satin sheets.  
  
But they did ask for this package with extra amenities after all. A sea of red rose petals are scattered across the floor and center of the bed. Towel swans have abandoned ship in Oliver’s great haste to start off their night with a bang. Lafite Rothschild 1982- a rather expensive bottle of their favorite red wine, which alone sends their holiday budget into quadruple digits- is chilling in an ice bucket on the coffee table. Right beside the wine was tiny rich bites of Felicity’s favorite brownies. They are her second favorite dessert, so Oliver managed to call a local bakery in time.  
  
The couple makes use of their balcony view of Starling Bridge, partaking in the sights of the historic landmark before them. It’s illuminated so beautifully against darkened night sky. The brownie bites aren’t overbearingly sweet for Oliver’s taste, but they also have the perfect amount of chocolate. That makes Felicity loves the little morsels almost as much as Oliver. The rich bitterness of wine is a fine compliment to the sweetness of the brownies, and from Felicity’s perspective if she has a few more glasses, Oliver wouldn’t be the sole thing keeping her warm tonight.  
  
Removing Oliver’s suede jacket, Felicity announces, “Now I think I really am ready for bed.”  
  
Her tone can't be misconstrued because she definitely isn’t talking about sleeping. No, her voice is laden with seductiveness and pure desire.  
  
“Finally!” Oliver cheers under his breath, doing a Felicity-like fist pump after he’s already unzipped her dress  
  
“Ah, ah, ah.” She teases with a cheeky smile, “You wait over by the loveseat. I told you I have a surprise for you in my bag. No peeking.”  
  
“Aw c’mon.” He whines, stomping his foot, “Baby, you are killing me, here.”  
  
Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Felicity remarks before she disappears into the bathroom, “I know. I can hear the coroner’s report now.”  
  
The door falls shut with a snick. Oliver does as he’s told because it’s Felicity. It doesn’t mean he can’t get a little more comfortable. He tucks aside his slightly fogged up glasses. He slips out of his shoes and socks, leaving them by the wayside. His white button up shirt and red tie fly off after he practically rips those stifling garments off his body. Oliver’s no idiot when it comes to Felicity because he knows she loves him preferably shirtless.  
   
With two strong tugs and a silly shimmy, the bodice of Felicity’s dress falls below her waist. Another softer pull at her skirt allows gravity to do its job. Felicity is left standing in a plain nude bra and matching panties, grimacing at her undergarments. The shade is appropriate when one wears white, but not at all sexy. No, this set is better suited for her mother to wear. Pushing that disgusting thought out of her mind, she toes off her heels. Luckily, Felicity has a plan. She changes into much more alluring deep purple panties - ones which accentuate her ample ass, but aren’t overtly skimpy. She pairs them with a matching bra that she knows will draw Oliver’s eye. The lacy details will help with garnering his attention. Felicity tops it with a seafoam green see through negligee. Granted, she had hoped to purchase lingerie in Oliver’s favorite shade of hunter green, although this was the closest she could find. Either way, she understands her man by now. She will still drive him nuts. After applying some pink gloss, she puckers her lips in an exaggerated pout and sends Oliver a sexy mirror selfie.  
  
“For your eyes only. I’ll be out in a sec, and don’t you dare start without me, mister. XOXO Felicity.” Oliver reads aloud, upon opening the sultry image, his mouth is left slightly agape. He feels like a ravenous man who’s recently been taunted with a juicy T-bone steak. Despite the buzz in his nerves, he remains fixated in his one spot per Felicity’s instruction.  
  
The door creaks open to reveal, Felicity striking a pose with as much sexiness as she can muster. The straight and narrow doorway only facilitates in emphasizing how gloriously curvy his wife truly is. A hand brackets her hip, which is jutted out slightly. She’s definitely a good four inches shorter without the heels, but his hungry gaze is a major signal that tells her he doesn’t care about those goddamn shoes. Her blue eyes hone in his, and their gazes never seem to disconnect.  
  
Felicity struts out of the bathroom as if she’s Heidi Klum, walking the Victoria’s Secret runway once more, standing mere inches away from Oliver.  
  
Felicity wonders, “You like what you see?”  
  
“Yeah. C’mere, and let me show you.” Oliver directs, gulping as his mouth suddenly runs dry.  
  
“Wait.” She replies, pushing him back against a tan loveseat.  
  
He gruffs tersely, “You know, Hon, I’m beginning to think ‘wait’ is rapidly becoming my least favorite word in the English language.”  
  
His wife promises, “Oh, I’m sure I can make it up to you. I swear.”  
  
A teasing hand slowly trails down his bare torso, pulling away just before she reaches the band of his dress pants. Surprisingly, she pulls out her cellphone from a cup in her bra. “Trading Places” by Usher is playing from her phone’s speakers. The sound is tinny and low, so as not to alert their neighbors that much. Though, he knows what’s coming next. Well, besides him, although he desperately hopes it won’t only be in his dress pants.  
  
“Oh my God!” He figures, excitement coloring his tone, “It’s your dance, but it’s not even my birthday.”  
  
Before Felicity begins, she inquires, “Is that a complaint I’m hearing?”  
  
“Surprise,” Oliver responds, watching her like a hawk.  
  
He and Felicity have an agreement of a respective birthday lap dance. Felicity’s is usually more of strip tease than a lap dance. While Oliver’s starts out, pretending to be Tom Cruise in _Risky Business_ , but finishes up with some fire, transforming into moves that could rival Channing Tatum in _Magic Mike_.  
  
Usher’s smooth vocals and the mid-tempo beat work with Felicity’s routine. Clearly, she’s picked a few new things in recent months. Felicity points her toes, stretching her right leg out in almost split-like stance and gliding it back with the grace of an amateur ballet dancer. She does the same with her left leg before a palm slowly journeys down her torso, pausing at the short hemline of her negligee. Felicity’s faces splits into a grin while she hikes up the seafoam green fabric, giving him a little peekaboo of her purple panties.  
  
A rumble resonates deeply from his throat in opposition, yet Felicity approaches him closer, nearing his lap. But not quite yet. Her hips swivel seductively, imitating a body roll that slowly reaches her undulating torso. He licks his pillowy lips, reaching out for her. But his plan is painstakingly interrupted when her fingers thread through the spaghetti straps of her lingerie. His hungry eyes are soon fed by the tantalizing vision of her bra. God, he so desperately wants to touch her. But Felicity takes matters into her own hands, climbing into his lap and straddling him like she’s done so many times before. His pebbled nipples greatly contrast from the lacy material of her bra. Her hips grind against his increasingly hard erection. He curses the fact that his dress pants are so thin, and they’re constricting him more and more with each passing moment, especially when her hands grip his shoulders to gain leverage. A breathy moan escapes her lips as the friction between them grows more intense, and she can feel heat and wetness emanating from her core. Felicity quells a gasp when her teeth graze Oliver’s earlobe, causing a guttural groan to vibrate from his mouth. All his buttons are being pushed at once, so he has to do something, anything right now. His fingertips gravitate to back clasp of her bra like magnets. Oliver, having years of practice, can easily unsnap it one handed.  
  
Upon attempting to do just that, she slaps his wrist hard, Felicity demands, “No touching the stripper.”  
  
“Ow!” Oliver hisses, wincing from the sting, “That actually hurt.”  
  
His wife wonders, letting him go,“Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” He huffs, nodding for emphasis.  
  
“Want me to kiss it better, soldier, or do I have to break out the handcuffs for you be to a good boy?”  
  
“Kiss please, and we both know I can escape out of those in seconds if you did anyway. Besides, I had something else in mind.”  
  
Following a delicate kiss to his wrist, Oliver gains the upper hand. He swiftly unclasps her bra, tossing the offending fabric away in one fluid motion. Felicity shimmies her negligee the rest of the way of down, yet it still hugs her hips. He yanks the last bit down along with her panties, leaving her completely bare before him. Felicity fully expects Oliver to drop his pants and take her from behind right on the loveseat, but that’s not what he does. For a brief moment, his eyes soak in every curve and every scar on her body which is akin to a Goddess in his mind. He lays her down gently on the couch. Oliver’s body blankets hers for the second time that night. Their lips reconvene in a harsh kiss. His stubble ravishes the delicate skin of her neck, pausing to suck on her pulse point Felicity’s unable to quiet a moan that sneaks past her lips. A tiny red hickey adorns her creamy skin before his mouth maps out a trail of hot, wet kisses. They descend from her torso, going further until he reaches her sex. He teases her by littering delicate kisses at her inner thighs, causing a giggle fit to bubble up out of her. It only stops when his eyes flicker to her as he plants a soft, lingering kiss on her pelvis.  
  
A hand cupping the back of his head and a meek nod is all they require as a green light. She feels the delicious bite of his calloused hands over her thighs, spreading her open. Her legs rest atop his broad shoulders before he so much as breathes. Oliver presses a short kiss to her clit, sparking an inkling of her pleasure before his tongue laves at her entrance to her increasingly swollen little pearl delicately. One hand leaves her thigh. His long fingers stroke in slowly, letting Felicity acclimate to feel of him inside her. When her walls clench snugly around his fingers, he moves, setting a gentle rhythm at first until they both crave more. Unbidden whimpers and moans escape her lips, so as if on cue, the pace of his hand quickens to maddeningly levels, driving her absolutely insane. Her hips grind against his face, and on that note, he nurses her clit at the perfect pressure. Felicity’s hands search for purchase, settling in Oliver’s hair. She tugs gently at the short strands by the base of his neck, keeping him right where she wants him. The combined stimulation puts Felicity right on precipice  
  
“Oliver, Oliver, right there. _Right there. Mmph_ ,” Felicity keens, desire releasing like a litany past her lips, “Oh... Fuck! Don’t stop. Don’t stop. _Don’t stop_.”  
  
He doesn’t, despite the burn in his wrist and tension in his jaw. Her abdomen clenches tauter and tauter along with other parts of her until his fingers crook at a special spot, and he sucks on her clit harder than before. With that, she’s sent hurtling over the edge. Felicity shouts a garbled version of her husband’s name. Wetness coats his hand and chin. He pulls away right on time to see sweet relief and pure deliriously blissful pleasure mingle on his wife’s face. Her eyes clamp shut. Little wrinkles knit between her eyebrows. Her neck cranes over the arm of the couch. A shudder wracks her body as her chest heaves, and a blush flourishes on her skin. His arms support her upper back and legs, scooping her up as he takes in her noisy, panting breaths.  
  
Oliver lays gently atop the comforter, giving her a moment’s respite. He waits patiently, climbing into bed beside her. Felicity’s breathing eventually returns to a normal pace. Her eyes flutter open.  
  
His nose brushes against hers in another tender Eskimo kiss, greeting in a whispered “Hey.”  
  
“Hi.” She responds somewhat groggily, “That… You were amazing tonight.”  
  
“Just tonight?” He fishes, tracing ambiguous patterns along the curve from hip to stomach, “You were the one who started all of this.”  
  
Felicity agrees, climbing right back on top of him. “And I wanna finish all of this this.”  
  
“Are you sure you aren’t too tired, Felicity?” Her husband asks, fingertips caressing her scars in a healing, reverent touch.  
  
His wife retorts, brazenly cupping the tent in his pants, “Are you really telling me no?”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Baby.” He chuckles.  
  
Felicity rolls off Oliver briefly, so he can rid himself of his pants and boxers. As soon as he does, her hand squeezes his erection, pumping him slowly. Yet he’s been more than riled up from the minute Felicity straddled his lap with the sexy dance of hers. His large hand ensconces her wrist, stopping her ministrations.  
  
Felicity commands, “Just shut up and love me.”  
  
Due to multiple years of experience, Oliver slips into her entrance easily. Thankfully, she’s still wet enough from her previous orgasm. They moan in unison as soon he reaches the hilt. He remains still until she’s ready. Felicity does most of the work initially, engulfing his member in her wet heat until her muscles grow weary. Oliver pushes in and out, taking hold of her hips. They move together slowly Her body blankets his, and their thrusts morph in shorter, but deeper movements. Her clit rubs right against his pelvis, Felicity's pleasure is building like a beautiful crescendo once again.  Skin slaps against skin, losing any vicinity of gentleness. Yet it's just what they need.  
  
“Felicity, _just like that_.” Oliver pleads desperately, loving the feeling of her walls squeezing him so deliciously tight and warm. Pleasure sparks at the base of his spine. “Just like that. Oh, Baby, I can’t... _Fuck_!”  
  
Her walls pulse around him, and he spills into her with long, hot spurts as wetness also coats his member. An amalgamation of her name comes out in a rough grunt from his throat. They share in their much needed release together. Her back arches away from him, nearly mirroring the reflection of the arch on Starling Bridge. They really should’ve closed those gray curtains, but they could care less right now. Felicity’s absolutely spent with her whole body weight resting on Oliver. Yet he revels in it, enjoying the feel of being as close as they could possibly get. Felicity’s classic red painted toenails scratch his calf as she attempts to to move off him. He pulls out, and they both groan harmoniously at the loss of sensation. Although, soon Felicity is right back in his arms. Her legs tangle with one of his, and Oliver sweeps back a curtain of her darkened, slightly sweaty locks, his palm errantly gliding up from the sexy curve of her ass to her side. After a long beat, Oliver and Felicity lazily make love one final time, despite their lethargic limbs. Following what feels like hours, in reality multiple orgasms and a snack later, the couple cleans up, and succumbs to deep sleep.

* * *

 Sunlight careens in through the open window. Felicity groans. She’s wrapped nakedly under the comforter, expecting to feel Oliver’s firm, warm body beside her. However, she’s greeted by nothing but cold, empty sheets.  
  
Sitting up in bed, his wife wonders, “Oliver?”  
  
Her ears perk up to the swipe of a card and a jostle of a doorknob.  
  
“Good morning, lover.”  
  
She cringes at the sentiment, her pitch lower than normal, still laden with sleep and disuse.  
  
“Different nickname please. You know I’ve detested that word. It's creepy, and ugh, crazy Carrie Cutter called you that.”  
  
“Good morning, honey.” Her husband corrects, pecking her lips messily. Morning breath be damned. “How’d you sleep?”  
  
Oliver’s certainly very aware of how she slept since they share a bed.  
  
Throwing him a bone, she admits, “Like a baby since someone tired me out last night.”  
  
“Me too,” His smile is boyish, dimples prodding his cheeks.  
  
His vision is somewhat blurry without her glasses or contacts, but she manages to spot two coffee cups in a disposable tray, and a white paper bag next to their drinks.  
  
Felicity presumes, joy brightening her tone. “They have Jitters here?”  
  
“In the lobby by the gift shop.”  
  
“Man, I love this hotel.”  
  
On that note, Felicity’s back muscles crease as she quickly slips into Oliver’s discarded white button up. Rather than take her own seat, she plops right onto her husband’s lap. Considering he’s already dressed in his maroon henley and blue jeans, he’s been busy. He sips his boring black coffee. His teeth crunch into a nice granny smith apple while Felicity partakes in her usual nonfat latte with cream and two sugars. Oliver steals the last bite of Felicity’s poppyseed bagel before she gets dressed. Felicity flops back on the mattress, pulling up her dark denim blue jeans. Gritting her teeth, she manages to zip the up and close the button. Upon standing, Felicity adjusts the hem of mint green tank top. She shrugs on her chocolate brown bolero jacket.  
  
Resting in the doorway to the bathroom, Oliver points out, “You know it’s a shame we couldn’t make use of that Jacuzzi tub with the water jets, but then again I don’t think anything top Bali.”  
  
They’ve been to Bali twice in the midst of their romantic relationship. The first time was their four month trip around the world when they began dating. The second trip was their honeymoon, and both times were amazing. Beautiful views, amazing food, but also the best sex of their lives. It wasn’t just the amount of times they got to fuck or make love, depending on the time of day. They really learned each other’s bodies, and tried a few new things in bed together.  
  
“Nope.” His wife concurs, popping the p. “There’s always next time. We should come back.”  
  
“Why wait?” He questions with a lascivious grin, “Our checkout’s not ‘til ten.”  
  
“Nice try. It’s already 9:49AM.” Felicity notes, looking up at the clock above the television. “Eleven minutes is not enough time for a quickie and a shower. I feel like I’m forgetting something.”  
.  
Oliver reminds, pointing down to her bare feet, “Your shoes.”  
  
Upon that realization, all six foot one inches of Oliver drop down on one knee as if he’s proposing again for a sixth time. He slides her foot in her black ballet flat and does the same with her other, making actually feel like Cinderella.  
  
“Thanks, but that wasn’t it.” She thinks, recalling, “My phone. I forgot to turn on my phone.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Hey, thanks for spending almost the whole night without your ‘precious tech baby.’”  
  
“You’re worth it.”  
  
They check out early. When the Queens reach the parking lot, they notice it’s suddenly much fuller than it was last night. As soon as they’re nearing their Range Rover, Oliver and Felicity are greeted with a slew of rude paparazzi, demanding they kiss or smile. Yet two shout something very odd, bringing up a supposed cheating scandal that recently hit news waves last night.  
  
Oliver roars, leading Felicity to their car, “What the Hell?”  
  
“Ah!” Felicity complains, shielding her eyes from that barrage of blinding flashbulbs with her dark Aviator shades, “I literally can’t see a thing.”  
  
“Tell us your name, sweetheart!” A moronic pap with a shirt that ironically reads ‘I’m With Stupid’ yells.  
  
Oliver’s hand balls into a fist because they almost made Felicity trip. Also, these lecherous jerks are in their way.  
  
Yet Felicity interlaces their fingertips, shooting him an expression which reads, “That’s not who you are anymore.”  
  
Felicity simply flashes her engagement ring and wedding band, flipping them the bird in the process.  
  
Miles and Timmy are there as well. With glances at two familiar rings, their Adam’s apples’ bob. The hotel manager and her massive security guards prompt some of the paps flee like the vermin they are. The owner/manager threatens to sue some of the dumber people, who have chosen to stay in hopes of a scoop. Thankfully, the Queens manage to make it to their car unscathed.  
  
Yet still, he proceeds to ask, cupping her face, “Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m fine.” She assures, grabbing his wrists.  
  
“Felicity...”  
  
“Oh, Frack!”  
  
Felicity looks down at her cellphone, seeing seven unread texts from Thea. The worry on Oliver’s face is evident in his furrowed brow, resembling an old school washboard. Although, Felicity just tells him to get down to City Hall, and fast. As the Queens leave, Miles and Timmy return to their beat up Dodge Charger.  
  
Timmy believes, “We’re so screwed.”  
  
“We had them.” Miles thinks, banging his fist against the dashboard, “We had our exclusive.”  
  
“We’re so fucked.” His friend reiterates, “You heard Ms. Smythe one more slip up, and…”  
  
He finishes, a hand sweeping over his shiny bald head, “We’re going to be so incredibly fired.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Oliver and Felicity race to Thea’s desk, expecting more of an urgency. However, she’s merely simply at her computer screen, laughing her head off.  
  
“Thea, what’s going on?” Her brother asks.  
  
Covering her mouth in an attempt to stop the giggles, Thea begins,“People are s-so stupid.”  
  
She’s nearly fallen to the floor with all the laughter. Wiping tears of amusement from her eyes, she takes a few, deep slow breaths to calm herself down.  
  
“Hey, Thea.” Her sister-in-law snaps, reminding, “You sent more multiple text with ‘OMG’ ‘LOL’ ‘No way!’ But your last one said You and Ollie need to be at City Hall A.S.A.P.”  
  
“Sorry, sorry.” She apologizes, turning her monitor around, “Look at this ‘scandalous affair’ on Siobhan Smythe’s website.”  
  
One of Thea’s favorite celebrity gossip sites has apparently broken the news that last night the handsome Star City Mayor Ollie Queen was on a Valentine’s dinner date with a mysterious brunette bombshell. Some people can really be that dense. Felicity simply changed her hair color, and in the instantaneous gratification era of the internet, those supposed exclusive photos, featuring the back of Oliver and Felicity’s heads, cement Susan William’s article with a byline by Timmy Mandrake.  
  
“Mysterious, huh?” Oliver waves off, “Eh, I know a guy who could read you like a book.”  
  
“Well, I can say the same about you, Mayor Handsome.” Felicity adds, standing on her tippy toes for a kiss.  
  
Thea reminds, “Valentine’s Day was yesterday, lovebirds. Will you two ever stop being so mushy?”  
  
“No,” They confirm in unison  
  
“So, what’s the game plan?” Thea asks, “What did you guys do at Starling Fairmont? They have really cool restaurants.”  
  
“It was Valentine’s Day, you really wanna know?”  
  
“No, never mind.” His sister retracts hastily, complaining, “Ugh, get it out of my head. Get it out of my head.”  
  
Felicity amends quickly, fibbing for Thea’s benefit, “We have bedbugs, so we needed a place to crash for the night.”  
  
“That’s better.” Thea sighs in relief, squeezing Felicity’s shoulder, “Thank you.”  
  
Their game plan to combat the supposed ‘scandalous affair’ is simple. In this new age, social media can be a blessing and a curse. They don’t quite how the press could mistake his wife for another woman, but then again, people still don’t the true identity of the Green Arrow. Granted, his mask and hood don’t do a sufficient job in concealing his face, yet still the public is blissfully unaware of who the real heroes are- Team Arrow.  
  
Felicity uploads a profile picture with her new brunette do to the Queen Incorporated website. Oliver addresses the press, keeping out specific names and moments of it. But he does remind them, the importance of unbiased honesty as well as fact checking, which works well to supplement that idea during a playground rebuild for the kids of Twinkle elementary because reporters were very concerned about the budget. Thea handles their social media accounts when needed, uploading a few candid photos in recent days. A week later, the scandal blows over only to be rocked with pregnancy rumors due to photos when they left Starling Fairmont and other outings  
  
“Hey!” Felicity snipes, clearly affronted, “Wine makes me bloated sometimes, and that other time was a burrito. I can’t help that Ortega’s makes them so delicious. Besides, pregnancy is not the only news a woman can have.”  
  
Thea agrees, exiting the room after giving her sister-in-law a fist bump, “Preach.”  
  
Oliver figures, “So we’re not gonna tell my sister yet, are we?”  
  
“That we’re trying for a baby? Hell, no. Not until there’s news to tell.”  
  
His lips curl in a soft smile, “She’ll be so excited to be an aunt again.”  
  
“Yeah, the list goes William and Samantha, my mother, John, and then Thea, remember?” She reminds.  
  
“I can’t wait.”  
  
Felicity chimes, smiling broadly, “Me neither.”  
  
No, Felicity was not pregnant after Valentine’s Day. However, their first anniversary in December is a story for another time.

**Author's Note:**

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